Fairytales And MakeBelieve
by Kelly123
Summary: She knows she is being ridiculous. How could the brightest witch of her age not? ONESHOT


_Of course, I just watched OOTP (duh, what kind of nerdy, over-aged fan hasn't?). And of course, I loved it, but at the same time I couldn't __quite __enjoy it (as has been the same with all the other adaptations) because there was SO MUCH of the storyline was either altered or just left out completely. I won't go into detail, because I'm sure I'm not the only one picking out that Dudley and his friends did not notice Harry as he sat on the playground swings...and that it was already dark outside when the two boys finally did cross paths (hrrumph)... But anyway, I had hoped that seeing the movie would get some kind of creative juices flowing and shoot a brilliant idea into my head that I just wouldn't be able to wait to get onto paper...or computer...whatever. Sadly, that was not the case. Instead, I was driving along (somewhere, I can't recall the specifics) when I noticed that I was not only singing along with the music (make this go on forever, by snow patrol) but I was acting out the facial expressions, as if were a music video. So I got an idea, and though it is a mediocre one, I still had the urge to pen it. And, of course, it's set in OOTP...just because. (__And __none of the characters are actually mine.)_

* * *

Sometimes (and there are a great many stipulations to this) she lets herself pretend. 

But only if she's terribly bored, or has a headache from reading, or a cramp from writing, or possibly if he has just absentmindedly laid a land on her shoulder...

All of which, of course, is terribly preposterous, as so she must remind herself once she begins to go all misty-minded. She isn't allowed the frivolity of boredom, what with the combinations of both her student and secret responsibilities. Why, one can't possibly allow oneself to become sidetracked from such pressing matters as advanced lessons, studying for OWLS, plotting against Umbridge, planning for the DA, sneaking to the room of requirement, training with Harry, lusting after ones best friend... In other words, Hermione Granger is one busy, busy girl, with barely a spare moment left to herself in which to clear her thoughts.

But then again, barely is a something, and a moment is a sometime, and it is in these stolen sometimes that she (guiltily) allows herself this vise.

------

"Ahh, back again, are we?" the transparent girl sneers, peering down at the curly-headed intruder to her bathroom from her perch atop the edge of a stall door.

"Hello to you too Myrtle. Why, yes I'm doing lovely, how about yourself?" replies Hermione, closing the rarely opened entrance carefully behind her, making quite sure that none of Umbridge's vindictive little inquisitors have followed her.

"Oh, don't you dare mock me! I know you aren't happy to see me, no one is happy to see a dead girl!" Myrtle pouts, swooping down abruptly to hover above the large mirror into which Hermione is wistfully gazing. "I know you aren't here to see me. You and your little boyfriends never come to visit me, only to use me for my bathroom! You're only here because...actually, why are you here? And where are your pretty little boyfriends?" She inquires, her dull eyes coming as close to flickering with smugness as a deceased girl's can, "Did Harry tell you about what happened between the two of us in the prefects bathroom last ye-"

"Oh my dear Myrtle, don't you think that I have just the prettiest skin?" Hermione interrupts, a (slightly burned, thanks to Neville) hand caressing her cheek lovingly in the mirror, "It's just so soft, and warm, and, lively."

"You WRETCHED girl!" there is a resounding splash as Myrtle plunges headfirst into the nearest toilet, echoing along loudly with the screech she leaves behind her. Hermione can't help but grin deviously into the mirror, in spite of the fact that she knows what she just did was really very cruel. Oh well, she needed the place to herself, and insulting Myrtle's...status on earth was quite simply the easiest way to do so.

Once the room is still again, the wily spark smolders out of her brown eyes and her smile begins to change. It shrinks, slowly at first, her lips closing together for a moment before she pulls the lower one in between her (now noticeably smaller) teeth to chew at it nervously. Then the corners of her mouth begin to turn up just the slightest. She lowers her chin demurely in mock embarrassment, and she can't stop the rosy blush that begins to creep up her cheeks.

After all, a girl can only pretend that Ronald Weasley would ever compliment her on her looks...especially this girl.

------

She knows she is being ridiculous. How could the brightest witch of her age not?

But even so, that is why it is make-believe. Rational-thinking Hermione would never imagine her best mate Ron brushing a stray curl out of her face and holding it wrapped around his finger for just a second too long to be a platonic gesture, then saying something so sweet and perfect and completely un-Ron like that she would never dare repeat it aloud. And she most certainly would not practice her reactions to such improbable deeds in front of an deserted bathroom mirror, memorizing her response and perfecting them just in case the situation might ever arise in real life.

Because, rational-thinking Hermione knew that such events would never transpire.

But misty-minded Hermione could pretend.

And so, as a result of such thinking she had quite a store of useless information, none of which has done her the slightest bit of good last year. Like exactly how she would have looked had he asked invited her (not as a last resort) to the Yule ball the previous Christmas.

Or the way she would have gently pressed her cheek against his shoulder had they stopped bickering about Krum long enough to dance (awkwardly enough at first, of course, but then...).

Or the shy smile they would have shared over pumpkin juice the next morning, with an out of place Harry kindly trying to pretend he didn't notice anything different between his two best friends.

And rational-thinking Hermione could have told her ages ago that this time would have been better spend double-checking her potions essay.

------

"Dear Merlin Hermione, what the bloody hell happened? Are you alright?!" exclaimed a thoroughly perplexed Pavarti, coming rather abruptly to a halt in the threshold of their dorm. Upon opening their door she had found her roommate gaping openmouthed at the mirror before her, the emotions etched across the studious girl's face ones she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Why, erm, of course. Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" The other girl stuttered, melting her features as quickly as she could back into the most bland expression possible and turning to face away from the vanity. "I uh...oh, I thought I saw a spider! Crawling up the mirror. Yes, that was it, and umm, I certainly do hate spiders!" she sang out a bit too cheerfully, slightly trembling as she pushed her way through the doorway and past the girl, whose sister had come to investigate the noise and was now standing behind her .

"You know, Ron Weasley might be completely backwards about almost everything else in the world, but you've got to admit he has the right idea about her." Pavarti remarked to Padme once Hermione had run off down the corridor in a slight frenzy.

"I know exactly what you mean," her twin responded, eyes wide in curiosity "That one is bloody mental!"

------

Hence the reason she came to use Myrtle's vacant (well, practically vacant) bathroom.

It really was an ideal location, once she thought about it, and if she had been using her head instead of her heart a little more in recent months she would have known better than to take chances in her bedroom in the first place. It wasn't hard to empty the place of its only other occupant, and once alone she had done so (not at all too nicely, she must admit) she had little fear of being caught with her face contorted like an idiot. But honestly, how else was she supposed to react if (and do NOT laugh) by some strange and otherworldly possibility Ron just happened to ask her to be his girlfriend?

But anyway, back to the matters at hand. The space was deliciously quiet and the mirrors were large and quite perfectly suited for her use. Now albeit, the glass surfaces were more than a bit dusty and rather spotted from going so long unused and unwashed, but that was easily enough fixed. It only took her a slight, practiced flick of her wand to put them to sorts, and soon they were shining with a determined gleam once more.

After all, what with her real life being as it was, it simply wouldn't do for her day-dreams to be tarnished as well.

------

"Ronald! Whatever in the world are you doing here?" She wailed mournfully, her pale face turning a most unplanned shade of crimson as a lanky boy with hair almost a matching tint of red came lumbering through the bathroom door, quite uninvited.

Her question was soon enough answered before he even had a chance to open his mouth though, when a smirking ghost materialized though the door behind him, shooting the boy a rather unkind look for shutting the door on her.

"Myrtle." Hermione uttered loathingly, her hands balling into fists at her sides and a number of impolite curses popping into her head entirely of their own accord.

"Who... little old me? Certainly you can't be inferring that I could be lively enough to cause you any trouble, could you dear?" the dead girl jeered, whirring about their heads dizzyingly.

"What's the matter with you Hermione?" Ron asked, scratching his head (not that she would ever admit it, but rather adorably), "I was just... I mean, Harry and I were just looking for you, and Myrtle happened to pop up and tell me...tell us you might be in here."

"She did, did she? Hmm, how...convenient of her."

"Yeah... I guess so. What are you doing in here anyway? I mean, you were staring into that thing like it was the bloody mirror of erised!"

"Nothing, I wasn't doing anything Ron." She sighed, shaking her head dejectedly. "Come along now, we need to go find Harry or we're going to be late for dinner."

She could never admit to him just how close to the truth he had been.

* * *

_So... How was it? The whole pretending thing...more than a bit corny, I know, but I must admit I've been guilty of it a time or two. And I'm indulging myself a bit on the vicoden from getting my wisdom teeth pulled yesterday while I write this, so please excuse any rambling. Oh yes, and REVIEW PLEASE, or you'll give me dry sockets!_


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